


Magic Carpet

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-04-22
Updated: 2012-04-22
Packaged: 2017-11-04 03:54:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/389453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war is over and Ron and Hermione are setting up housekeeping. Who would have thought that shopping for carpeting would uncover so many mysteries?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

One

"This place is a tip." Ron wrinkled his nose and looked around the tiny cottage. "It smells funny."

"Coming from you," Hermione snapped, "that's rich."

Ron poked a dubious toe at the peeling carpet. "It smells like Crookshanks' box," he observed. "No freshening charm is going to improve this."

"Well, the lady that lived here _did_ have several cats," Hermione admitted. "And it's a project, Ronald. We'll use magic, but the point of this, if you remember, is to do this ourselves. To create our home. It was your idea, if you recall. Unless you'd rather move to Ottery St. Catchpole. 

Ron shook his head and smiled. "You're mad, Hermione. Absolutely insane. But you're the madwoman for me."

Hermione sniffed and regretted it immediately. "Good." She handed him a pry bar. "Start by trying to get this up. I'll be in the kitchen, trying to clean the tiles." 

There were only a few things in the post-war world that Hermione feared: the nightmares from the Final Battle, flashes of green light, snakes, and living less than fifty miles from Molly Weasley, her mother-in-law to be.

* * *

The Magic Carpet Emporium, situated in the High Street, was not an establishment that catered to the rich and famous. It provided affordable carpeting and flooring solutions to the good citizens of Haslemere. 

Its proprietor, Kevin Stephens, liked it that way. He was a gaunt man, a few pounds short of skeletal, with lank black hair and a hooked nose. Fastidious people didn't consider his teeth if they could help it, and the less particular ones were fascinated.

None of these things detracted from his ability as a competent, reliable carpet merchant, nor did they prevent him from collecting a small following at the Dog and Duck pub where they would gather 'round him to hear his predictions about everything from what the Prime Minister would do about Afghanistan to Chelsea's chances of doing one over on Manchester United this season in the Premiership. 

But to Hermione and Ron, when they wandered into the Magic Carpet Emporium one sunny Spring Saturday, his appearance shocked them to the very core. 

"Bloody hell! He looks just like Snape!" hissed a panicked Ron to Hermione, as he began edging towards the door. 

"Headmistress Snape! Shut up Ron," Hermione hissed back, kicking him in the ankle. 

"Can I help you?" Kevin Stephens asked the couple gaping at him.

"We’re looking for… erm, some carpeting." Hermione managed to cling to the shreds of her dignity and watched in dismay as a single black eyebrow (the left one) crept to Kevin Stephens' equally black hairline. "And… um, we saw in the newspaper that you were having a sale."

"How much carpeting do you require?" asked Kevin.

Ron turned white.

"He even _sounds_ like her," he whispered. 

"About four meters by, um… seven," Hermione stumbled. 

"And how much did you wish to spend?"

"Well, it depends," Hermione replied, smoothing her hair self-consciously under Kevin's even gaze. "I was… we were hoping to take a look at the different types you carried. We'd like something in a Berber, as Berber carpet has a tendency to stand up well in more high traffic areas. Its looped construction makes it resistant to footprints and marks from the hoover."

"It appears, Miss…?" Kevin trailed off.

"Granger. Erm, Hermione Granger."

"It appears, Miss Granger," Kevin continued acidly, "that you have done a remarkable amount of research."

"Well…" Hermione began.

"As such, you hardly need my help, do you? You will find the Berber selection over there." Kevin gestured. "And perhaps you could do something with your companion? His dumbfounded stare of terror is disconcerting not only to my other customers - the ones who actually _require assistance_ \- but also my sales staff."

"Of, of course." Hermione tugged Ron's elbow toward the display of carpeting in an attractive selection of beiges and browns. "Come _on_ Ronald."

"Bloody hell," Ron muttered to her when they were safely concealed behind the display rack, "he looks like her, he sounds like her, he's even got her attitude! I was waiting for him to deduct points from Gryffindor!"

"Really, Ron!" Hermione said, yanking a sample from the rack. "Let it go! We're in Surrey. Headmistress Snape came from the north. He runs a _carpeting_ business, for Merlin's sake. He's a Muggle. Headmistress Snape came from a long line of witches and wizards. What do you think of this color?"

"It's brown. And you're wrong, Hermione – Headmistress Snape's father was a Muggle, remember? She was a half-blood."

"It's called _Safari_. And if he were related to her, his last name would be Snape, not Stephens. I think it's too dark."

"Oh." Ron sighed, disappointed. 

"Cool Sage." Hermione read the label on the back of another one. "I think it's too grey, but it might look nice with the red paint on the walls."

"Uh-huh. Whatever you think, 'Mione."

Neither of them noticed when Kevin swooped down upon them, and they both jumped guiltily. 

"Have you considered the quality of carpet padding you wish to install?" he asked. 

"What? Erm, n- no," Hermione admitted, blushing furiously.

"Indeed," mused Kevin. "It would seem, then, that the know-it-all consumer does not, in fact, know everything about carpeting."

"Oi!" Ron's face went as red as his hair. "Just watch the talk about my fiancée!"

"My apologies," Kevin said smoothly. "Would you be interested in looking at our wide selection of carpet padding?"

Ron was still seething, and Hermione tugged on his hand with a meaningful glare. 

"Come on, Ronald," she whispered, "and try to be nice to him. Mum says that he's the best carpet merchant in town."

"As a matter of fact, Miss Granger," Kevin remarked, turning on the pair suddenly in a whirl of black sport jacket, "I am the _only_ carpet merchant in town."

"Well, erm, in that case," Hermione said, "maybe we should look at that padding now."

Kevin raised an eyebrow.

"Indeed."

"Bloody Hell, 'Mione, I'm not sure how much more I can take of this," Ron hissed. 

"Shut _up_ , Ron!"

"If this is too uncomfortable for you, sir," Kevin interrupted the squabbling couple, "I am sure that your presence in this shop will not be missed. Either by me or your fiancée."

Ron turned an unattractive shade of red again. 

"I'm fine," he muttered.

"Good," Kevin snapped, "then perhaps you both can keep still and you might learn something about carpeting."

* * *

All in all, Hermione was grateful when she and Ronald escaped the Magic Carpet Emporium with an order for new carpeting for their sitting room and bedroom. 

Kevin Stephens was an irascible man, but he did know his carpeting; even Ronald had to admit that (however grudgingly).

"But he's so much like Snape that I…" He shuddered.

"Headmistress Snape," Hermione interjected. 

"Headmistress Snape," Ron corrected himself, "but it still gives me the chills. Can you imagine what would happen if that old bat hadn't gone into teaching?"

Hermione, at that point, lost her patience.

"Headmistress Snape was a heroine – she died protecting Harry and you and me from Voldemort!"

Ronald's eyes began to glaze over, but Hermione was in full flow: "She died believing that she had failed the son of her best friend – she saved us, and she'll never know it!"

Hermione stopped her tirade and in her tracks as a thought struck her.

Ronald did not immediately notice, sauntering down the pavement without his girlfriend for several yards before the silence around him sank in.

"Oi, 'Mione!" he called, "You coming? I'm hungry – what about a curry for tea?"

Hermione felt her jaw tighten and her neck began to prickle, and she hurried to catch up with him. 

"So what do you think, 'Mione? Curry?" Ron asked.

Hermione silently awarded herself an Order of Merlin for not hexing her fiancé in broad daylight in a Muggle street. If Ronald wanted a curry (which she hated), he could have a curry. She was going to call Ginny and have a hen night at a pub. 

A very specific pub.

* * *

 **AN:** Not mine, no money. Many thanks to bluestocking and richardgloucester for their lightning quick beta and Brit-pick as I work to get this plot bunny off of my back.


	2. Chapter 2

Two

"You dragged me all the way out to Godalming for a drink?" The newly married Ginevra Potter wrinkled her nose into her pint.

"Haslemere. Godalming's north of here."

"Still a bloody long way to Apparate," Ginny grumbled. "There are pubs between here and Godric's Hollow, you know." 

"But not pubs that have something very special in them."

"Surely not the atmosphere." Ginny nodded at the fading gilt and velvet that fought valiantly for aesthetic dominance with the Space Invaders game and the large television screen hanging over the bar. The girls reeked of the cheap cigarette smoke from the entrance where the legion of smokers was huddled hung over the room. Ginny scuffed her shoe against the grimy red-carpeted floor, trying to dislodge a cigarette butt wedged in the tread.

"No," Hermione had to admit, "not that. But you'll see."

"If you're going to take me 'round to find your local, you'll have to do better than _this_."

"We'll go to the Swan later, I promise," Hermione assured her friend. She preferred the Swan as well (it was quieter for one thing, and had a strict no-smoking policy), but the Dog and Duck was much too close to the Magic Carpet for her not to test her theory.

The door to the pub banged open and a tall, lean figure, clad in head-to-toe black, with long, lank hair and horrid teeth strode masterfully into the pub and took what was obviously his accustomed seat at the bar. 

"Bloody hell!" Ginny did a perfect imitation of her brother. "It's Eileen-fucking-Snape! She's been reincarnated and come back as a man!"

"Headmistress Snape," Hermione corrected absently, taking a sip of house red and regretting it. " _That's_ what I wanted you to see."

"But how…"

"I'm not sure. It may be a coincidence, but even the attitude is similar. Ronald and I tried to buy carpeting from him this morning and he was… well, just like Headmistress Snape was."

"Bloody hell," Ginny muttered again. "He's a carpet salesman?"

"I know." Hermione nodded.

"Well, must be a coincidence," Ginny declared. "There is no way Eileen Snape would come back like that. It just doesn't work that way."

"I'm not suggesting _reincarnation_ , Gin. What about a relation? A cousin? A nephew?" Hermione demanded.

"No way, Hermione. There is no way that that man over there could possibly be related to her. He's a _Muggle_ , for one thing."

"So? Wasn't she supposed to be married to a Muggle?"

"Not for long, according to Harry." Ginny narrowed her eyes and stared at her friend. "You think they're related. That somehow Eileen Snape has a relative running around Surrey, selling carpeting." 

"Actually, it was your brother who first thought of it," Hermione admitted. "He was convinced when we walked into the shop that he was seeing her, and, well, I started thinking."

"Sounds like you," Ginny muttered.

"So, how long was Headmistress Snape married to her Muggle husband?" Hermione pressed.

Ginny took another sip of her pint and grimaced. "Do we have to stay here any more?" she asked plaintively. "I'll tell you all I know if we go somewhere else."

Hermione grinned. "Fine," she replied, "let's go to the Swan and you can tell me everything you know about Eileen Prince-Snape. And I'll buy you a decent drink."

As the girls left, neither of them noticed Kevin Stephens watching them leave.

* * *

Minerva McGonagall sat back and sipped her tea in a marked manner. 

"I'm not sure why we need to be discussing this, Hermione," she admonished her former pupil.

Hermione blushed under the scrutiny.

"I know," she said, "but there's been so many secrets, so many people just seem to want her to disappear – and she did so much for me and Ron and Harry, it's not fair. Her legacy is just that tomb and a posthumous write-up in the _Prophet_."

Minerva pursed her lips. 

"It sounds as if you're trying to write some sort of biography of her," she commented.

"Yes, exactly," Hermione agreed quickly. "I'd like the truth to be told – I'd like her to be remembered properly. So, if you don't mind – I'd like to start with you – you worked with her, what was she really like?"

"She wasn't an easy person to know," Minerva said finally. "The Prince family were pure-bloods fallen on hard times, and Eileen's mother was very aware of her status in the Wizarding world.

"That awareness seemed to permeate everything Eileen did. The fact that her father was a Muggle seemed to rankle very much. I think that at first she blamed her father for much of the ills that befell her when she attended Hogwarts. It was fortunate that he died when she was young. She never even took his name – quite a progressive idea for her time, you know."

"The Half-Blood Princess," Hermione murmured. 

"Exactly. She tried her best to be a credit to Slytherin and all that she thought it stood for."

"But…"

"But," Minerva agreed. "But for the presence of young Henry Potter, she would have been just as bad as any of the Malfoys or the Blacks." 

"I thought that Lucius…" 

"Lucius came later, as much as I can determine," Minerva said. "She seemed weak as a head of house at first, and I think Lucius wanted to exploit that. When Eileen's character really started to show through, she knew too much about him and about Slytherin House's dirty secrets."

Minerva pursed her lips.

"You have to understand, Hermione," she said, "Slytherin under Horace was a very different place than it was when Eileen was Head. You may have seen it as a house of secrets and deception, but compared to what it was under Horace's guidance, it was positively open."

Hermione shivered, although the spring morning was warm.

"So," she prompted, "Eileen went in and put an end to… things?"

"Distasteful practices," Minerva said with a prim nod. "But that didn't come until later."

Hermione nodded. "And that's what I'm interested in, at the moment," she said. "What happened to her before she came to Hogwarts to teach Potions."

Minerva looked sad.

"Tobias Snape happened first," she said, "and then Voldemort."

* * *

"So apparently," Hermione confessed to Harry, Ginny, and Ron, "Eileen Snape was rejected by Henry Potter and she ran away the summer between her sixth and seventh year."

The four of them were cozied up at a table in the Swan. Harry took a reflective sip of beer and frowned.

"Ran away?" he asked. "How do you just _run away_?"

"Like you did, Harry," Hermione pointed out. "Like in Third Year, when you blew up your aunt. But there was no Knight Bus to rescue her."

"Oh. But she came back for her seventh year?"

"No." Hermione shook her head. "She took a year off – literally disappeared. When she came back, she was married."

Ronald choked into his beer.

"Married?" he asked, red faced and just a touch panicky.

Hermione raised an eyebrow at his excessive reaction and nodded. "She was just sixteen when it happened, and from what Minerva told me, she may have thought she was pregnant."

"Was she?" asked Ginny.

"No. It turned out it was a false alarm, but apparently her mother insisted that she be made an'honest woman'. Even if it was with a Muggle."

"Tobias Snape," Harry filled in the name.

"Exactly. But Eileen insisted on returning to Hogwarts for her final year. Minerva implied that she had Confunded him, but I'm not sure. It was a year after her other classmates had left, but she was able to return."

"What happened to Tobias?" Harry asked. 

Hermione grimaced. "This was where Minerva became somewhat cagey," she said. "But from what I understand, Tom Riddle and a group of proto-Death Eaters (for lack of a better term) happened about a year later."

"What?" demanded Harry.

"I know, but apparently, Tom Riddle decided that Muggles shouldn't be pushing around witches – no matter what their blood purity. I think that was around the time that he was exploring breeding options as well." Hermione made a face. "It was nineteen sixty-two and Eileen was struggling to support Tobias Snape by working in Borgin and Burkes. There may have been more there. Riddle certainly had her wrapped around his finger at that point." 

"What happened next?" asked Ron.

"Eileen was grateful. She may have been saddled with Tobias Snape's name, but she was free of him." Her face fell. "But then, of course, it was an easy step from gratitude to a coworker and a fellow Dark Arts enthusiast to servitude to Voldemort."

The group fell silent. Around them, conversation swirled in cultured tones with polite pauses, unlike the raucous calls of the rugby fans in the Dog and Duck.

"What happened next?" asked Ginny. 

"She became a teacher. Free from Tobias, but indebted to Voldemort, she worked to gain her position as Potions Mistress at Hogwarts, where she soon became the Head of Slytherin House."

"The perfect place for her to be in order to serve Voldemort." 

"And then," Hermione continued, "she started mentoring Lily Evans, even though she was a Gryffindor, _and_ a Muggle-born. But Lily eventually married James Potter, Henry Potter's son. Henry Potter, whom Eileen had loved and who had rejected her."

"And then my mum became pregnant with me right after her seventh year. And she and my dad got married." Harry finally broke the silence. 

"Yeah," Ron said.

"Yes," agreed Hermione. "And she came to Eileen begging for help because she heard about the Prophecy."

"And Eileen went to Dumbledore. Who'd also heard about the Prophecy. But she didn't go to Voldemort," Ginny said softly.

"Yes."

"And then she spent the rest of her days protecting me," Harry said. 

"And I think that she did that for more than just the bonds of a student-teacher relationship," Hermione said. 

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"I think she spent her life protecting Harry because I think she did fall pregnant in nineteen sixty, when she was supposed to be in school, and she had to leave. Because she knew what it was like to be young and pregnant. But unlike Lily, she didn't have a Potter to save her."

"You don't think…" Ginny trailed off in disbelief. 

Hermione nodded vigorously. 

"I do," she said. "I think the cost was Kevin Stephens. That Kevin Stephens' last name is really Snape, and that he's the son of Eileen Prince and Tobias Snape."

Ron shook his head and Harry and Ginny registered similar signs of disbelief.

"You're absolutely mad, Hermione," he said, taking a grave sip of beer and squeezing her knee under the table.

"Thank you, Ronald." Hermione was not amused.

"In a good way!" he protested. "You know, brilliant but scary! And totally mad."

Hermione glared at him and let the matter drop.

* * *

AN: Yes, I'm playing with canon here. Canonical evidence indicates that Eileen Snape was at Hogwarts in the 1940's (possibly a classmate of Tom Riddle if you do the math). I am, for the purposes of this Alternate Universe making Eileen's birth year somewhere between 1944 and 1945. 

Not mine. No money.

Special thanks to bluestocking and richardgloucester for saving me from myself and any blatant Americanisms.


	3. Chapter 3

Three

She was certain she was right.

The evening in the Swan with Harry, Ginny, and Ronald had not ended well. Ginny had sided with her, albeit reluctantly. Ronald and Harry, on the other hand, had dismissed her theory and the back-story of Eileen Snape with Ron's phrase,

"You're absolutely mad, 'Mione."

Their dismissal rankled, especially Ron's sarcastic comments on their way back to their new cottage (which was going to look very nice when the new carpeting arrived). She could have sworn that they'd had a conversation about his publicly backing up her "wild theories" just that afternoon.

The demands of being in public and keeping her end of their agreement about arguing in front of Harry and Ginny kept Hermione from doing Ronald any serious harm. She did, she reflected, have a great deal of experience in being right, in the end. 

Even so, it was fortunate for her relationship with Ron, she supposed, that he chose the next week to visit the Burrow for some motherly attention and care. He certainly was not going to get it from her, at that point.

Hermione chose instead to get to the bottom of her suspicions regarding the parentage of Kevin Stephens.

If she stopped to consider, for just a moment, the consequences of solving this mystery, she may have had second thoughts. But Hermione, who considered so many things so very carefully, had the bit between her teeth. 

And really, renovating (fighting, really) without Ronald was just the tiniest bit boring. She was looking forward to beginning her apprenticeship with the Department of Mysteries in a few weeks, but in the meantime, a small domestic mystery would do quite nicely.

* * *

"Was there a problem with the delivery of your Berber?" Kevin inquired, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

"N-no… actually." Hermione tried not to stutter nervously under his acid scrutiny. She knew now how Neville used to feel in Herbology under the stern glare of Professor Sprout. 

"Then why, Miss… Granger? Why are you here?"

"Well, we'd like to look at some carpeting for the stairs."

"Indeed. Well, here is our selection, as you can see. Will you still be interested in Berber? Or does your fiancé have a different opinion?"

"Erm, yes… no. That is, Ron is with his mum at the moment, and I thought I'd come in and browse your selection." Hermione blushed as Kevin crossed his arms and glared at her. 

"Very well. As you have provided, yet again, more information than I require, I will leave you. Perhaps I will be able to get some work done without you pestering me or my staff? When you have made a choice – do let me know." Kevin stalked off, sport coat flapping again. 

It was chilling how he could instill panic with a single glance – just like Headmistress Snape. But Hermione was not there to buy carpeting for her stairs or deliberately court the ire of Kevin Stephens. Palming her wand, she peeped out from behind a display rack. Kevin was at the countertop, working on a pile of receipts, and from the frown on his countenance, things did not bode well for his vendors. With a flourish, he withdrew a red pen from a coffee mug with "A Present from Bournemouth" emblazoned upon it and began to write what Hermione was sure were scathing comments on the receipts. 

" _Revelatio Domus_ ," she whispered, letting the spell dribble out of her wand and creep across the floor to her unsuspecting victim. Kevin's ankle glowed silver for a moment as the spell hit home. 

Then disaster struck. Kevin's head jerked up and he shook his ankle irritably. As he did so, he caught Hermione's eye.

"Are you going to select a sample or _not_?" he demanded.

Bravery might be a Gryffindor trait, but Hermione, after a week of shagging Draco Malfoy (it was just after the war and Ron had been "exploring his options" with the Patil twins), had learned that discretion was often the better part of valor. Not standing upon the order of her coming, she hastily replaced the sample (twice, fumbling the first time and having to pluck it from the floor) and scuttled from the Magic Carpet Emporium.

* * *

Hours later found Hermione tucked in the corner of the doorway of the bookshop next to the Dog and Duck, trying to Disillusion herself without actually breathing; the stench of beer and cigarette smoke from the legion out front was terrific. Finally rendering herself effectively invisible (except when seen in direct sunlight), she straightened up and waited for Kevin Stephens to emerge. As an afterthought, she cast a Bubblehead Charm to prevent further asphyxiation from passive smoking.

He did not fail her. At eight on the dot, after the night had fallen, Kevin Stephens, billowing sport coat and all, banged open the door of the Dog and Duck, releasing a wave of laughter and conversation as he swept off down the street in a swirl of cigarette smoke.

Hermione hugged herself triumphantly: his left ankle was glowing. Following him would be easy-peasy. She also noticed that he managed not to get any cigarette butts stuck to _his_ shoes. 

Glancing around her, just in case (Tonks had thoroughly inculcated the habit of "constant vigilance" in the Order of the Phoenix), she hurried after the man in the sport coat with the glowing ankle. 

He was ridiculously easy to follow, all things considered, and after a mile of swift walking (for him; for Hermione, it was an all out jog), they came upon a pleasant street of recently remodeled, nicely kept detached cottages, the sort that Hermione and Ron dreamed of. Well, Hermione had. She wasn’t sure what Ron dreamed of, other than Quidditch, judging from the muttered conversations in his sleep. 

Kevin glanced left and right and entered the gate of number Fourteen Wisteria Lane. As he did so, the door opened, spilling a pool of light onto the front steps. A tall, dark figure was silhouetted in the golden light just as the light around Kevin's ankle flickered out. 

"Good evening, Mum," Kevin said, and Hermione's heart sank. She had been so _sure_! She sat down suddenly on the curb across the street in dismay. 

From the interior of the cottage, an unearthly shriek could be heard: 

"All men are bastards!"

The figure in the door turned and Hermione felt a flicker of something very familiar as the bird's vituperation against the male sex was abruptly cut off. 

The figure in the door was using _magic_. 

Then a horribly familiar voice said, as the door swung shut behind Kevin, "I still haven't been able to get Minerva's bloody bird to shut up. And I'm about ready to start hexing first and asking questions later."


	4. Chapter 4

Flustered and frustrated and full of questions to which no easy answers presented themselves, Hermione chose, upon returning home from the Stephens (Snape?) residence, to tackle the nightmare that was her kitchen. Specifically the cooker.

The cooker itself was a work of historical and archaeological significance. It obviously dated from the middle of the last century (Hermione guessed it had been purchased and installed sometime in the nineteen-sixties) and had, as far as she could tell, never been cleaned. Icicles of grease hung in dingy grey stalactites from the top of the grill; the remains of thousands of burned meals were encrusted onto the floor of the oven and the burners. Hermione was also sure that generations of pigeons had nested in the vent (although she could not imagine why). The only thing the cooker was missing was a Boggart. 

While she scrubbed (Evanesco and Scourgify only erased part of the grime), questions swirled in her mind: Who was Kevin, anyway? Was the figure in the door to his charming cottage (here Hermione bit back a surge of jealousy that such a prat could have such a lovely looking home whilst she, the heroine of the Great War and companion to the Boy Who Lived, was stuck chipping stalagmites of charred potato and carrot from the bottom of her cooker) really Headmistress Snape? Was the long-ago “pregnancy” of Eileen Snape really a false alarm? Did that mean that Kevin was a wizard? Or was he just a Squib?

Disturbed and annoyed, Hermione knelt on the somewhat less grimy floor and stuck her head in the oven to scrub the back, just as Ron’s patronus burst into the room. 

“I love you!” the great Labrador yapped, as Hermione jumped and banged her head on the top of the oven. “I’ll be home tomorrow, and I’ve been thinking. I think it’s time we took the next step!”

The Labrador paused to lick its nether regions, barked once more and vanished as Hermione sat upon her haunches, rubbing her head. Another question landed atop the already teetering pile in her mind: what, in the name of Merlin’s beard, did Ronald mean by “taking the next step?” She hoped that she wouldn’t have to plan a wedding on top of cleaning their new home, redoing the floors, and starting her new job.

* * *

When Ronald returned the next morning, Hermione was bleary-eyed and bad tempered from lack of sleep. The cooker, on the other hand, showed signs of improvement. At least, she reflected sourly, as she examined the grit embedded beneath her fingernails, you could tell that it was originally supposed to be white. Her hands, on the other hand, still reeked of ancient meals – most of which she'd never, ever want to experience. 

“I’ve been thinking, Herms,” Ronald announced as they sat in their (now nicely carpeted) sitting room, sipping coffee. “I’ve been thinking we need to take the next step.”

“And what step is that, exactly?” Hermione asked acidly. Ronald had landed on their doorstep at eight that morning, kissed her abstractedly on the cheek, and not commented about the cooker as he poured a cup of coffee. 

“Bleurgh,” he ejaculated. “I’m sorry, Herms, but this coffee is terrible! You ought to let mum teach you how to make it!”

“I beg your pardon?” Hermione asked, glaring at him. Thankfully, he took the hint and smiled at her, enlarging a vase and some flowers from Molly’s garden.

“I brought these for you,” he said, proffering the blooms. 

“Thank you.” Hermione cast an _Aguamenti_ to fill the vase before the flowers expired from the trip from Ottery St. Catchpole. 

“Um, anyway, Herms, I was thinking this weekend, and I was talking to Bill. He and the twins both, actually. Oh, and Percy was there too, and they all think, well… you know how Luna, Parvati and Padma, and Astoria are all married to them – except for Padma and Fred, but they’re living like we are. Well, I guess Parvati and Padma are both pregnant, and I was thinking that maybe we should be, too.”

Hermione was silent for several minutes, coffee mug frozen to her lips. 

“I mean,” Ronald continued, “it makes sense. I know that Percy and Astoria are trying and I bet that Bill and Luna aren’t going to be far behind, so, I thought maybe we could get going on that. Don’t really want to be left out, do you?”

Hermione swallowed her mouthful of coffee (she’d never admit it to Ron, but it _was_ terrible) and tried to process what she’d just heard.

“You want to have a baby?” she finally asked.

“Yeah,” Ronald replied. “I think, well, with the house… we’ve been bickering over a lot of things, and a baby would bring us closer together. Plus, Fred and George have been really taking the mickey lately with me an’ Bill and Perce and all, saying that we’re gonna be the last of the Weasleys to have children…”

“So you’re suggesting that we bring a child into this world because Fred and George were giving you a _hard time_ about it?”

“Well, when you put it like that,” Ron replied defensively. “I just think that it’s time we took that step. Percy says that you’re not getting any younger, and you’ll want to have kids before you get too involved in the Department of Mysteries and don’t have time for them or me anymore.”

“ _What_?”

“Well, you’ve a career all lined up, you know. And Percy says that once women get involved in their careers, they don’t want to be mothers anymore. Luna pointed out that the older women get, neflingers tend to nest in their ovaries. It's why it's so important to get started young.”

“And who, Ronald, would take care of this child? Your mother?”

Ron laughed. “Oh, no,” he said, “mum and dad are taking off for an extended vacation in the Seychelles. They’re going to buy a home there and Portkey back to England for the summer. You could take care of it. And then you could start working, once the sprog was old enough to go to Hogwarts.”

Hermione set her mug down on the coffee table with deliberate care.

“So,” she said, quietly, “according to you, I should Floo Kinglsey and him know I’m not going to be starting my internship at the Department of Mysteries for another twelve years because my fiancée has decided that we need to have children in order to keep up with his brothers and their wives?”

“You make it sound like a bad thing!” Ronald protested, grabbing her hand. “I just want us to be closer!”

“And refurbishing the house together is not sufficient?” Hermione inquired in her best Professor Snape manner.

“Well, it’s more like a step,” Ronald said, “but now – and it’s because I love you so much, Herms – that I want to… Where are you going?”

“I’m going out, Ronald,” Hermione replied, rising from the couch. “And I may be some time.”

“You’re daft, you are,” Ronald said as Hermione, with deliberate care, pulled an umbrella from the stand. “It’s pouring.”

“I need to take a walk,” she replied.

“Oh, well, can I come, too? We can talk about baby names!”

“No, Ronald. It’s going to be a very long walk.” Hermione replied, trying not to reach for her wand. “And you know how much you dislike very long walks.”

Taking care not to hex her fiancée or slam the door, Hermione walked out into the drizzle, seething.

* * *

Her walk took her up to the High Street, past the just-opening shops, along the cigarette butt encrusted pavement by the pub, past the Magic Carpet Emporium (shut, she noticed), and over to Wisteria Lane and the Stephens/Snape residence. By that time, the rain had all but disappeared. 

Approaching number fourteen, she heard an indignant squawk from the back garden and then the cry "All men are bastards!"

Hermione froze on the pavement in front of number twelve, recognizing the voice from the previous evening. She also recognized the _human_ voice arguing with the bird:

"You bloody useless bird! If you don't get your feathery arse back into your cage, I will roast you and serve you up for Sunday lunch!"

"Bastards!" cried the bird.

Kevin Stephens let out an enraged roar and Hermione heard the crashing of tree limbs and the sound of a tall man coming into heavy contact with the ground. 

At that point, the bird in question fluttered over the garden wall and alighted on Hermione's shoulder.

"You're a pretty one," commented the bird, shifting position and leaning forward to nibble gently on her ear. 

Hermione carefully reached up and stroked the grey feathers. She recognized the bird: Pandora, Minerva McGonagall's familiar, an African Grey parrot of uncertain temper and extensive vocabulary. As Head Girl in her seventh year, Hermione had had the privilege of parrot sitting on those evenings when Professor McGonagall was out, dealing with Hogwarts business, or (more frequently) on covert assignments for the Order of the Phoenix. 

It hadn't been Hermione's favorite choice of occupation, certainly, but it had kept Professor McGonagall happy, which, when she, Harry, and Ronald had struck out against Voldemort on their own, had counted for _something_ when they had accidentally sprung the trap that the Order had laid, precipitating the events of the Final Battle. 

Hermione smiled as Pandora clucked slightly and asked for a kiss. Ronald and Harry had, once Harry had disarmed and defeated Voldemort and the triad had returned to Hogwarts, come in for a hell of a scolding – not only from McGonagall, but also from Flitwick, Molly and Arthur, and several other members of the Order – but she had not. Perhaps if Headmistress Snape had been there…

The sound of running feet interrupted her reverie, and a flushed and out of breath Kevin Stephens came bursting through the garden gate, twigs and bits of tree-life clinging to his hair. 

"All right, you fucking fowl, where the fuck are you?" he roared.

Hermione turned slightly, feeling the bird's claws tighten on her shoulder. 

"Bastard!" screeched the bird, flapping her wings, but not taking flight. 

Hermione took a deep breath and gathered her Gryffindor courage. _Now or never, Granger_.

"Mr Stephens," she said, "I think I've found Pandora for you."

The look on Kevin Stephens' face was worth not only the exorbitant installation fees he'd charged her, but also the rudeness she'd had to endure in the process of purchasing the bloody carpeting. 

"Bastard!"

It began to rain again. 

Kevin swiped at his hair, dislodging a piece of what looked like a bird's nest, and glared at both Hermione and the bird.

"I suppose you'd better come inside," he finally said, gesturing to the open gate. "The least I can do for you is provide you with a cup of tea."

Hermione smiled. 

"I'd love some tea," she replied.

"Fucking bastard!" observed Pandora pedantically. 

Kevin glared at the bird and stalked through the gate into the back garden, not glancing behind him to see if Hermione was following him. 

"Who wants a biscuit?" asked Pandora. 

"Bloody bird," Kevin muttered as Hermione hurried to catch up.

"House-elf fucker!" exclaimed Pandora in reply.

Hermione stifled a giggle and followed him into the cottage, Pandora on her shoulder.

* * *

 **AN:** I don't own the characters.

Thanks to bluestocking and richardgloucester for their beta and Brit-pick help.

I chose Ron to have a lab as a patronus, it seemed more appropriate!

And a note on my choice of vocabulary: "Ron ejaculated" as in "Ron blurted out". It's an older use of the word, but still perfectly appropriate. ;)


	5. Chapter 5

The kitchen was a marvel – something she and Ron (well, she at least) had dreamed of. Warm red tiles on the floor complemented the natural wood cabinetry and countertops. In one corner, a stylish stainless steel refrigerator hummed quietly and on another side, an Aga gave off comforting warmth. In the middle of the kitchen sat a large scrubbed pine table, littered with newspapers and books. The house smelled of books, papers, and a citrus cleaner. Hermione found it _homely_.

"Sit," Kevin grunted at Hermione as Pandora flapped from her shoulder back to a perch in what looked to be a sunroom adjacent to the kitchen. The windows of the sunroom overlooked the sloping back garden, complete with patio, vegetable patch, and an expanse of lawn, leading down to a willow-lined riverbank. 

Apparently selling and installing carpeting paid well. 

"Who wants a biscuit?" inquired the bird.

Hermione could not suppress the giggle that arose in her throat as she sat down at the table and Kevin slammed shut the cage door.

"I may be offering you a cup of tea," he declared, "but there are no biscuits to be found in this household."

"Of course not," Hermione agreed, lips still twitching. 

"Pardon the mess," Kevin continued, swooping in to gather the books and newspaper. "I was not expecting company."

"No, I can see that." Hermione looked at the papers on the table and felt another jolt of recognition: the newspaper in question, which she had first assumed to be the peach sheaf of the _Financial Times_ was, in fact, the pale pink sheets of the _Quibbler_.

"Erm," she began. "Do you often read the _Quibbler_?"

Kevin glared at her. 

"I beg your pardon?" he inquired in icy tones.

"The newspaper," Hermione pressed. "Do you read it often?"

"It is my mother's," he snapped, abruptly leaving the kitchen to drop the pile on the bench by the back door and attend to the teakettle.

"Your mother's?"

"My mother's, yes. She has eclectic taste. Are you less capable of speech than that bloody bird?"

Pandora squawked another obscenity. 

Hermione dodged the question. "May I help you?" she asked politely, shifting on the kitchen chair. 

"No. I believe you have done enough damage at present."

Hermione fell silent and sat, perched on the edge of the chair, torn between the prospect of making a dash for safety before the son of Eileen Snape (there was no doubt in her mind now) and the rudeness of making said bid for freedom. Outside, the rain beat against the windows. Inside, the kettle whistled its merry tune and Pandora, quiet for a moment, nibbled on her seed.

Kevin broke the mood, slapping a white china mug of fragrant, steaming tea before her, sloshing a bit on the table and glaring.

"Well, what are you waiting for, girl?" he demanded. "Drink. I'm not going to poison you."

Hermione choked a bit on that.

"Th-thank you," she replied.

He grunted and turned away to bring a plate of biscuits to the table, despite his original threat.

"Thank you," Hermione said again as Kevin seated himself opposite her and sipped from his own mug.

"Just hope that this infernal rain lets up soon," he replied. "The sooner it does, the sooner you can leave," he elaborated curtly.

"Jupiter's jockstrap!" exclaimed Pandora.

"I, erm." Hermione sipped her tea and was surprised to find it tasted as good as it smelled. And she knew exactly whose concoction it was, too. "This is excellent tea," she commented.

"A friend of my mother's gave it to her."

"Does your mother live here?" 

"No."

"Oh, then how…"

"He has given them to her every Christmas for the past ten years. She has an extra supply which she passes on to me."

"I believe it's his own special brew," Hermione said, warming to the conversation. Filius Flitwick's tea-making skills were legend in the Hogwarts community. Hermione had spent many cheerful hours with her diminutive Charms professor and his teapot. 

"I believe it is." Kevin did not add anything more, nor did he ask how Hermione had known that. 

Conversation languished. Rain lashed against the windows.

"How did…" Hermione tried again.

"Yes?"

"Oh, nothing."

"Indeed."

"Neptune's nadgers!" screamed Pandora.

Hermione sighed and sipped the Flitwick concoction. Kevin was _not_ making this easy. 

"Was there something you wanted?" he finally asked. "You have the air of an inquisitive busybody."

"No! Well, erm, yes, as a matter of fact," Hermione blurted. "I do have a question, and I am _not_ an inquisitive busybody!"

" _That_ ," mused Kevin, "is purely a matter of semantics. What, Miss Granger, is your question?" He sounded ridiculously like his mother. 

It really was very unfair. Hermione glared at him and he glared back. 

"Ask, Miss Granger. The rain may let up at any moment, and my patience before then."

"Well, I wanted to know," Hermione blurted, gathering her courage in both hands, "are you really Eileen Snape's son?"

* * *

Hermione sat back, having thrown her dungbomb and waited for Kevin to explode.

Headmistress Snape had been famous for her outbursts of temper, usually directed at Harry or Ron, and Hermione expected no less from her offspring. 

Kevin glared at her.

"Who," he demanded, "is Eileen Snape?"

"The Headmistress of my old school," Hermione replied, a bit lamely.

"Indeed?" he sneered. "And you believe I am related to her, how?"

"Well," Hermione began, "you look exactly like her, for one. And Pandora… well, Pandora's not hers but I _know_ she belongs to one of her colleagues." She gestured to the bird silent, and busily cleaning herself.

"And you so you assume, therefore, that I am related to…"

Suddenly, the back door slammed.

"Flobberworm Fucker!" announced the parrot.

"Hasn't Minerva been round to pick up her bloody bird yet?" demanded a familiar voice.

Hermione jumped in her seat, folded her hands in her lap and assumed her most studious and serious expression. 

If Kevin noticed her reaction, he responded only with an amused twitch of his mouth. 

Eileen Snape bustled into the kitchen, water dripping from her overlarge nose and lank black hair, stopping short at the sight of her former student. 

"Miss Granger!" she hissed at Hermione.

"Professor Snape," began Hermione, "I can explain."

"Why do I doubt that?" snorted Eileen Snape. "You truly are a menace, Granger, did you know that? Did you come to right a wrong? Or are you here to get the _true story_ of Eileen Prince-Snape, unsung heroine of the side of Light?"

Hermione opened her mouth and closed it again.

"Don't think," Eileen Snape continued, "that I don't know about your little field trip to Minerva's last week. Why are you here, anyway?"

Hermione flushed and stood toe to toe with her former professor and headmistress.

Eileen Snape was a tall woman, but she wasn't so tall that she dwarfed Hermione – something that Hermione hadn't realized until that very moment. 

Reflecting upon it later, Hermione realized that if Ron hadn't made his ridiculous proposal earlier that day, if Kevin Stephens hadn't been so rude to her, if Eileen Snape hadn't just called her a menace, she would never, not in a million years, have done what she did next.

"Professor Snape," she declared, "I came here by accident. Pandora found me, and I was doing _your son_ a favor by capturing her! 

"If you think for a minute that I intend _anything_ in coming here other than to _do you and your son a favor_ , you are sadly mistaken!

"Frankly, although I'm happy to see you alive, I couldn't care less where you're living, or even _why_. You sacrificed yourself for us, and I know I appreciate that, but really, Professor Snape, I have greater concerns than _your_ whereabouts!"

Eileen's mouth opened and closed in an unconscious imitation of Hermione's previous action, and Kevin snorted into his mug of fragrant, steaming tea.

"I think, mother," he muttered, "that she has you there, italics and all."

Eileen spun to face her son, her face a thundercloud.

"What confounds me," he continued, smirking at the two irate women, "is how you managed to keep her out of my house for as long as you did."

"I beg your pardon? When would I ever have come here?" Hermione gasped.

Eileen shot her a withering look and Kevin began to laugh. 

"How did she win her Order of Merlin?" he asked his mother. "Surely not for being the brightest witch of her age?"

"What?" Hermione asked again. "What do you mean? And I _am_ the brightest witch of my age! Even Dumbledore said so!"

"What he means, Granger, " Eileen said, lips beginning to twitch, "is that _this_ was the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, not that dingy heap that Potter has chosen to call home."

* * *

 **AN:** Not mine, no money. Thanks to Bluestocking for making this readable!

**Author's Note:**

> Not mine, no money. Maybe some day this'll be finished!


End file.
